


See the Lights Surrounding You

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cooking, M/M, Names, Reunions, child rearing, galactic self-fashioning, post-trooper life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-22 23:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20000023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Towards the end of the war, the stormtroopers formerly known as Cardinal and FN-2187 run into each other.





	See the Lights Surrounding You

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [title source](https://youtu.be/P1fSVbBwVX8)  
>   
> Part of one scene was previously posted anonymously while this fic was still being written.  
>  **edit 10/12/19** This fic was a pinch-hit in the Rare Male Slash Exchange for someone who later rejected it. It was written according to the constraints of their request, which included no mention of previous relationships or the presence of poly and/or established relationships, and did not violate any listed DNWs.
> 
> I'm noting that here because that request constrained the fic itself.

It is very late in the war, let alone in his life, for this to be the case, but Seed has never seen a ghost until today. Then again, he isn't a soldier any longer.

He is making his way through the North Market and mid-day throngs, heading for work, when it happens.  
A small child dashes across his path, shrieking joyfully, running so fast that they don't see the speeder overloaded with merchandise turning the corner.

Grabbing the child's cloak, Seed swings them up out of danger. Only then, when the child is in his arms, does he see their face. He nearly drops them, but recovers himself.

"Careful, little one," he says as he sets them down. To his own ears, his voice comes from far away.

 _Whose are you?_ he would like to ask. His Thrydenn colleagues in the warehouse have a habit of asking newcomers, _With whom do you eat?_ , to mean the same thing.

_Where do you come from and who are your people?_

He first saw this child twenty, twenty-five, years ago, in another life. One bright, handsome little face, huge brown eyes and dark skin, among a sea of them, all dressed in the simple white shifts that he himself had once trained in.

"Cardinal?" a man asks.

Seed flinches at the old name. It was bestowed on him, then taken away, like everything else. 

"Sir," the man continues. "Is that you? Are you all right?"

The child hugs the man's leg. The man is every bit as handsome as his childlike potential suggested he would become. Rather than cropped down to the roots, his hair is twisted into curlicues and spiralling trails. His expression is relaxed and friendly, no longer tense, grave, _blank_.

Touching his own hair, which is also longer and softer than regulation ever allowed, Seed shakes himself. "2187?"

The man grimaces a bit and says, his voice rising in pitch, "What? No, I'm just a humble logistics operator. Call me Prince."

The crowd is impatient with them standing here, disrupting the flow. Seed is about to be late for shift. But he's staring at the young, handsome man with the child who looks _exactly like he used to_ and he cannot seem to break his gaze.

"Prince, of course," Seed says. He touches his chest. "Seed."

Prince smiles for a moment, a beautiful expression, frank and unguarded. "We should catch up."

"I have work—" Seed glances over his shoulder. He's rooted to the ground.

"Tomorrow? This one has swimming lessons out at the springs." His palm rests on the child's head.

"Yes," Seed replies. "I'd like that."

*

"Who was that, Papa?" 

Finn swings his son up onto his hip so they can actually cover some ground. Before he thinks better of it, he replies, "An old friend."

*

Seed has been in the Spire for nearly two years now. He lives in a communal residence in the western district with a private bed but common cooking facilities. He works eight days out of every tenday in the warehouses; he's strong and tireless, well-suited to the work.

He doesn't mean to keep to himself, but the population of the Spire is so changeable that he hasn't made many lasting contacts here. He cannot offer very much in the way of conversation, period. The issue isn't simply that he's trying to live without drawing the notice of the First Order, though that is, of course, always at the forefront of his mind. He doesn't have the store of anecdotes and personal connections that seems to fuel conversation. Where'd you school? What was your first love like? All these questions must seem ordinary, unremarkable, to regular people, but he has no answers for them. 

Seeing 2187 — _Prince_ — again has set Seed's anxiety seriously in motion for the first time since he fled the _Absolution_. He has watched enough holo-novelas by now to liken this nervousness to that of a young person about to go on their first date.

He is being ridiculous. He's a middle-aged man, a traitor with few prospects, and even less to offer. He's nervous for very good reasons: because he has very little experience being an ordinary person.

Then again, can 2187 have that much more than he? 

*

"Thanks, R2," Finn says when the holo file arrives with a somber _ting_ on his pocket datapad.

He routed his request for information on the trooper captain formerly known as Cardinal through a few different forks. He wishes he didn't feel like he had to look the man up, but the war is not over. His own gut instincts and fond memories of an authority figure are not nearly enough to go on in terms of trust. And, most importantly, he has a child to think about. His own security matters, but the kid's is of a whole different magnitude.

The information is sparse: Cardinal fled the _Absolution_ with mercenary intelligence dealer Vi Moradi. Finn can't call her a _spy_ , nor does he trust Moradi. Anyone whose information is for sale is suspect. He includes Maz in that, Maz who got him this position in the first place, Maz whose influence out here has probably kept him safe for much longer than luck alone could ever hope to.

So he does not trust, but he can work with, those motivated more by money than principle. Right up until they reveal themselves, like DJ did, to care _only_ about the money.

Moradi and Cardinal came to Batuu; Moradi left, visited the Unknown Regions and her brother, then returned from Parnassos with refugees in tow.

Unless he wants to live his entire life distrusting everyone he meets, Finn needs to trust that Cardinal — _Seed_ — is not a threat. If he becomes a threat, then Finn will deal with that as it happens.

He stands on the balcony for a long time that evening. The first moon rises while he's out there, sending the sky from bruise-black to something tinged with green and gold. 

The apartments in their block are fan-shaped, with the narrow tips inserted into the spire at a slight angle. The front of each apartment is an open balcony. While the incline of the floors means toys, datapad styluses, and miscellaneous items of clothing all slide downward and gather at the front door, it also results in a sweet sense of solitude when he's on the balcony.

That solitude tonight feels less like a gift and more like a sentence.

When the second moon is shuddering just above the horizon, Finn goes back inside. He sets the security net (intruders can't make it through, but the night breezes can), pulls off his trousers and jersey and washes quickly before lying back on the sleeping platform. His son is splayed out on his stomach up near the pillows, one hand at his mouth. Finn rubs his back for a while until, huffing, he turns to face Finn, a frown curving over his small face, then evaporating just as quickly.

*

The hot springs to the east of the settlement form the heart of a public recreation complex. Seed has visited once or twice, but he prefers the smaller bathhouse near his residence. It's more convenient, but also quieter.

This place is alive with activity. Seed can't quite find his way through the crowds, and the noise that ricochets off water and slick tiles keeps assaulting him from different directions. The complex is also quite lovely, its buff stone walls warm in the afternoon sun and curved as if long-exposed to gentle, weathering winds.

He doubles back to the main entrance and asks the Azumel attendant where the younglings' swim lesson can be found.

The top two pairs of the Azumel's eyes swing to Seed's left, while the bottom pair regard him calmly. "Shallow pool, to your left at the end."

It did take some adjustment, when he landed here, to the presence of so many non-human sentients. He is fairly certain he didn't harbor any of the more vicious opinions about such species, but his discomfort, plus the worry about saying or doing the wrong thing, did preoccupy and inhibit him for a good while.

He thanks the Azumel and, at the end of the open passageway, finds 2187 leaning over a high railing, watching the pool.

About twenty children are in the water, both humans and not-at-all-humans, shouting and splashing as three or four attendants attempt to maintain some order.

"You came," 2187 says, straightening up and facing Seed with a wide smile and easy, open posture. (Seed will never stop evaluating body language for hostility and imminent danger; he has come to accept this about himself. Accept, but not necessarily *like*.) He reaches out, as if to hug Seed, but Seed interrupts him with a handshake.

"Prince," Seed says, releasing his hand after a beat too long. 2187's hand is big and strong, warm from the sun.

"It's Finn, actually," 2187 says. He rolls his eyes. "I wasn't — . I needed to be careful yesterday. It's just Finn."

"Ah," Seed says. He settles in beside Finn, mimicking his position, hands clasped in front of him, elbows braced on the rail. "FN, Finn. Makes sense."

"Seed is, what? You were SD?" Finn snorts and shakes his head. "It's weird to think of you having a designation like the rest of us."

"Why?" Seed says.

"Why's it weird?"

"Yes. I was..." Seed looks over the pool, seeking out Finn's small double. He's near the center, very carefully practicing put his face in the water. "Just like the rest of you."

Finn laughs now, loudly enough that the noise resonates with all the others. When Seed looks at him, confused, Finn shrugs sheepishly. "You were so much _more_ , though."

"Maybe." Seed rubs his palms together. It must the afternoon sun, hot and bright, glittering on all the water, that is making him feel slightly unreal. He startles when Finn rocks into him gently and knocks their shoulders together. 2187 is now almost as tall as Seed himself, a fact that should not _surprise_ him, but does. The cadets left his direct care at thirteen, fourteen, already in puberty but far from out of it. "It was CD. CD-0922. My designation."

"Oh," Finn says. He nods a few times.

"And your little one?" Seed asks, after clearing his throat and returning his attention to the pool. "He looks so much like you."

Finn smiles at that, but the expression is both faint and transient, nothing like what Seed has already seen on the man's face. "Solo. His name's Solo."

Down in the pool, Solo is floating on his stomach and sharing a white ring with a little girl darker than he is. They seem to be practicing kicking; the water churns white around their legs.

Now that they're standing here together, like any two people enjoying the sun and chaos in the pool, Seed finds that he can't think of anything to say. There are things he wants to _know_ — how did Finn get here? Is Solo's other parent (or parents) here? — but the shape those questions make in his mind is impossible to translate into words. He doesn't want to ask; he wants, somehow, to already know the answers.

"I'm glad," he says, when the silence has stretched away from _companionable_ and is threatening to become _deeply awkward_ , "That you got. Away. Out."

"Yeah," Finn says, just as quietly. "Me, too. Any longer and I don't know — " He stops, his mouth open, and Seed realizes that there are things, too, that Finn can't find words for.

"Yes," Seed says for him. He touches Finn's shoulder, lightly at first, then more firmly, his palm curving over the muscled knob. "Me, too."

Plants with long yellow-green tendrils sway from the arches overhead, and the tendrils reach for the bright water. The shadows they cast are thin, in constant motion, weaving through the shining lozenges of light on the water. The little ones in the pool shout and paddle with all the joy and (easily distracted) determination that Seed remembers from training people their age.

"They're just playing," he says after a while.

"Kids do that," Finn replies and knocks their elbows together. "Excel at it, even."

"Will you have dinner with me?" Seed asks suddenly. As soon as he speaks, he thinks of many, many reasons why Finn will say no: he's busy, he's regretting this meeting, he's already romantically involved.

 _Romantically involved_ : Seed cannot help feeling utterly ridiculous. Such a trivial part of ordinary life is beyond his grasp.

"Yes," Finn says, sliding closer so their legs touch from hip to ankle. "I'd like that."

He has child responsibilities, and unspecified work, but suggests tomorrow evening. 

Seed nods, and nods some more, squinting into the brilliance of the light.

*

"It's nothing much," Seed says when he slides the door open for Finn. "But welcome."

His living space is a large, crooked room divided into two by a few plain curtains. Here in the front, an old holo-player has pride of place; in the back, a long chaise looks like it folds out into a sleeping surface. Everything is meticulously neat and dust-free; the walls are pale blue, the floor a darker midnight indigo.

Finn feels comfortable at once. Like Seed himself, his space is quiet and functional, nothing in excess. 

On the narrow eating table, Seed slices the tuber bread that Finn brought and serves it with the cold soup that he must have prepared earlier. He explains, when Finn asks, that the kitchens are a common area here, yet hardly anyone uses them besides him.

"I'm still getting the hang of it myself," Finn admits as Seed pours their drinks. "Cooking."

"Never thought I'd like it, but —" Seed passes a cup to Finn. "Anyway, saves on expenses, that's for sure."

Just like a common kitchen reduces the rent, Finn realizes. Yet once Finn tastes the soup, its broth sharply tangy, the vegetables crisp and fresh, he suspects that cooking has become much more than an exercise in thrift.

They eat in relative silence; Seed looks delighted, even surprised, when Finn asks for more. When he returns to the low table and cushions, he sits much closer to Finn this time. Their legs are folded, their knees brushing.

"The quiet..." Finn says when they have finished off the soup and Seed is peeling a small greenjack melon for dessert. "It's wonderful."

"Can get a little close at times," Seed tells him.

"I can imagine." Finn leans back on his elbow. "But the absence of a child shouting is, frankly, pretty great."

Smiling, Seed ducks his head as he slices the melon. "Some nights my ears didn't stop ringing til the next morning."

He holds out a crescent slice of melon and Finn goes to accept it, but the juice makes it slippery. Their fingers interlace as the fruit skids free. 

"Leave it," Finn says when Seed reaches for it. Startled, Seed goes still, his mouth opening. Finn grasps his wrist and brings Seed's sticky fingers to his lips. Seed's eyes widen, his breath stopping, when Finn kisses each calloused fingertip in turn. Light pecks at first, then deeper, lingering kisses. Finn's thumb moves up and down the inside of Seed's wrist.

Seed makes a hoarse sound, deep in his throat, when Finn presses his mouth to the center of his palm. His fingers flex and push around the curve of Finn's skull to drag him closer, upward, into a deep, insistent kiss. Finn goes up on one knee, arm around Seed's waist. Their chests bump, teeth click, tongues pulse, and they're half-laughing at the awkwardness, half-groaning in frustration together. 

Everywhere, Seed's body is hard and warm, heavily muscled, and Finn's hands cannot settle in any one place. When he presses his thumb against one flat nipple, Seed hitches still and pants against Finn's mouth. Finn smiles, and then can't stop, working his thumb in broad ovals, moving the fabric of Seed's jersey and his chest hair against the sensitive skin. 

He's equally sensitive down the center of his back; when Finn's left hand drifts down from the flexing power of Seed's shoulder-blades to his waist and then the slight hollow of his back, Seed's groans get a little more ragged. Finn's nails against his skin make the noises sharper, needier, yet.

"Sir," Finn says, drawing back. "I want to —"

He suddenly can't think of the right thing to say. He wants _so much_ and all at once.

Seed smiles at him, gentle and slow, and just nods. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes fan out. "You don't have to call me 'sir', you know."

"I know. It just happens."

Seed makes a soft sound at that, noncommittal but still gentle. He was always a relatively kind person, especially compared to others like Phasma, but this gentleness is a quality that Finn could never have expected.

"I'd like to," Finn says, trying again to find the words. "Be with you."

Seed's smile widens and deepens; his teeth are very white here in the twilight room. He kisses Finn again, firmly, and rises, offering his hand. "Yes," he says, pulling Finn to his feet. When they bump into each other, the kiss resumes for a long while. Finally, shifting away, Seed leads Finn into the sleeping area, through the whispering curtains.

Seed starts to strip, quickly and efficiently, so Finn follows suit. 

His shirt laid aside, Seed moves back toward Finn. His flush-bronze skin is criss-crossed with scars large and small, old and older; they look lavender in this low light, though they're probably just pinkish. His chest hair is white, lighter than the patches of silver on his head.

Everything about him is solid and steady. His muscles are still thick, well-set on his powerful frame. The impression they give is resting power, security that is difficult to rouse to rage, rather than any imminent violence.

Seed shucks off his briefs and pauses. Finn doesn't know if Seed is having doubts — that seems unlikely, given all he knows of the man — or simply evaluating the situation. That sense, of being looked over and judged, sharpens all the old feelings, things Finn thought he'd forgotten. He tips up his chin and swallows.

"Sure did grow up big and pretty," Seed says. He smiles as his gaze shifts from evaluation to appreciation.

"Sir," Finn says. He feels all the weight of their kiss, all over again, all over his skin. "Thank you."

Seed nods and pulls Finn in, kisses him breathless. One hand on Finn's jaw, the other on his hip, strong grips that hold Finn right where Seed wants him and open him up.

Mouth and stance open, his own hands roving through the soft mat of Seed's chest hair, Finn lets the thrill and tingle suffuse him. 

Seed knows what he's capable of, knows how to take what he wants. As with stripping just now, he also knows he can take his time. There's urgency and excitement, of course, in his hard kiss and darkened eyes, but certainty, too. He doesn't have to be — and here Finn remembers Seed on the drill mat, spitting the word — _foolish_.

Finn's right hand closes in the back of Seed's hair and shakes him slightly as he walks him backward with one knee between Seed's. Seed is still taller, maybe even still stronger, but Finn knows his own power now, too. He's determined to get Seed foolish. Make him forget himself, overcome his composure.

Finn releases Seed, steps away, and grins when Seed momentarily grunts and boggles. He nudges Seed back onto the edge of the chaise and sinks to his knees.

"Make some noise," he tells Seed, who's just pulling himself back together. "Loud as possible."

"I..." He shudders as Finn palms the length of his dark cock and licks one tight, silver-haired testicle, then the next. 

Whatever Seed was going to say, he swallows it with a hoarse grunt. Finn wraps his lips over the head of Seed's cock, licking fast and sharp just under the flare.

Soon enough, Seed is grabbing for Finn's neck, his shoulder, anything to hold on. 

He's going to fly apart, Finn decides, and love the trip.

He nuzzles Seed's balls some more, inhaling the warm, damp musk of his skin and feeling saliva fill his mouth. Seed spreads his legs and his toes dig against the floor. His nails scrape over the back of Finn's neck and up into his hair.

"Loud," Finn reminds him, speaking just over Seed's cockhead.

Seed peers down at him, wonder twisting up his face. "You like that?"

He _loves_ that. Noise, and motion, are everything in sex. There's no need to hide, to be furtive with his affections, not any longer. 

Finn doesn't bother answering, not in words. He just pushes his mouth halfway down the shaft and swallows. Seed is big enough that Finn's lips stretch and sting at the corners. Seed murmurs and shifts, hips starting to work, as Finn works him slowly, up and down, his tongue swirling and his eyes locked on Seed's.

Seed brushes his knuckles down Finn's cheek, then touches his forehead, his eyebrows. Finn shifts the angle, takes more, and Seed clutches at Finn's ear and grunts. When his thighs jerk farther apart and tighten, and his ass starts to lift, Finn swallows and speeds up his attention, and cups Seed's balls, rolling them against his palm.

Seed is loud when he comes, gasping, and he spills over Finn's tongue with remarkable force. Finn rests his cheek against one of Seed's knees, gets his breath and balance back, then lifts himself to crawl up Seed's body. He kisses a meandering route along the way, up through the hair spilling down from the navel, then across Seed's chest, finally finding his mouth.

Seed embraces him, rolls them on their sides, and hungrily kisses the remnants of himself out of Finn's mouth.

"2187," he whispers.

"Sir," Finn replies, because that is also his name. He was never just a number, not with this man.


End file.
